


The Garden Lodge Express

by LydianNode



Category: Bohemian Rhapsody (Movie 2018), Queen (Band)
Genre: Fluff, Friendship, Gen, Jim will do anything for His Man, M/M, mild language 'cause it's Roger
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-19
Updated: 2019-09-19
Packaged: 2020-10-21 13:57:37
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,718
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20694683
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LydianNode/pseuds/LydianNode
Summary: It's Christmastime, 1989, and Freddie is worried about Roger and Brian. He also wants to play with his gold train set.Roger touches the engine with his index finger. "How far does the track go?""All around the room. Under the tree, then through the legs of the chairs, and finally back up the back of the piano."Brian is already shaking his head and starting to rearrange the track. "To get enough velocity to come back up, it has to have at least a few high spots...if I can calculate how much drag the track produces...""Fuck that." Roger is smiling broadly. "We can make it go straight down, see how FAST it runs."





	The Garden Lodge Express

**Author's Note:**

  * For [royaltyisshe64](https://archiveofourown.org/users/royaltyisshe64/gifts).

> So. This little morsel of fluff is a request from Royaltyisshe64. We both love the story in Mercury and Me about Jim setting up a Christmas train scene in 1989 and the blurb from a later interview where he says Freddie had Roger and Brian over and the three of them played with the train "like three big, hairy children."
> 
> This train looks pretty much like what Freddie may have had at Garden Lodge that Christmas:  
https://auction.catawiki.com/kavels/16762321-arnold-n-0167-train-unit-rheingold-br-18-5-vergoldet-drg

December 13, 1989

My man is, by and large, honest and straightforward. But when he needs to use subterfuge, he is the past master. 

It's Christmastime and we've spent today doing up the house from top to bottom. There's hardly a flat surface that doesn't contain some form of decoration. Even Freddie's beautiful piano is part of the seasonal adornment. 

Oh, he complained like mad when he first saw the gold-plated Rheinmaster train set on the lid. "It'll get scratched!" he bellowed, relaxing only when I showed him the polystyrene blocks I'd placed beneath to keep his beloved instrument safe. 

Now he's utterly delighted at the winter scene I created all around the lounge, and I catch him staring at the train with a faraway look in his eyes. I know that look. I drape my arm around his shoulder and kiss him lightly on the cheek. 

Freddie turns to me, his expression melancholy. "Here we have all these parties planned, and poor Roger and Brian will be all alone." 

_Then they shouldn't have cheated on their ladies,_ I don't say. I try to sound sympathetic instead. Really, I don't dislike either of them, but I think they're fools to throw away the life that Freddie and I can never have in this benighted country. "Have Chrissy and Dominique gone on holiday with the children?" 

Freddie nodded mournfully. "It's their first Christmas without the little ones. Roger will probably drink himself into oblivion and Brian..." He puts his forehead on my shoulder and wraps his arms around me. "I can't bear to think of what Brian might do. You don't know him, really, you don't know just how dark it is in that clever mind of his." 

I have an inkling. I've seen him when he doesn't think he's being observed, when the pain is deeply etched across his face. Freddie is incredibly sensitive to those things, which is part of the reason I love him so much. 

Freddie lets out a long sigh. "I should have them over. There's got to be a way that won't make them feel as if I'm doing this out of some sense of obligation." He elongates the last word and waves a hand at the trains. "Just to have them drop by and...and play." 

The thought of Brian May playing with a train set strikes me as so ridiculous that a snort escapes me before I can stop it. Freddie punches me softly on the arm. "You're laughing, but I bet neither of them ever had a train set to play with. Brian never had a chance to do things like this as a child because, well..." He lowers his voice. "There wasn't money for toys and such. When he was little they dressed him in his dead sister's clothes, can you IMAGINE?" 

I can't, actually. 

Freddie doesn't wait for an answer. When he talks about Roger's situation, his words take on an angry edge. "And, of course, Roger's father was a complete tosser so God only knows what Christmas was like for HIM!" 

These outbursts are perfect examples of Freddie's generous heart, ignoring the fact that his own childhood was so miserable and concentrating on his friends' woes instead. 

"So, Jim, dearest, what if I have them over for dinner tonight?" A plan is obviously forming in his mind, because his smile is bright enough to light up the whole room. "They'll be the perfect decoys for one another. I'll tell Roger he absolutely HAS to come because otherwise we'll never pry Brian out of his house, and I'll insist that Brian has to come or else Roger will feel strange. There, it's settled!" 

"What about John?" I inquire, but Freddie shakes his head. 

"This is my "Salon des Refusés." At my blank look, he continues. "The artists rejected from the Paris Salon started their own group - the 'exhibition of rejects.'" He stops to consider, a little frown furrowing his brow. "It sounds far less dreary in a textbook. Anyway - John's got Veronica and his kids, and it would just be cruel to rub that into the other boys' wounds, don't you think?" He shudders a little, doubtless remembering what it was like to be the suffering one amongst the merry. "We can have the Deacons over next week, with absolute TONS of presents." 

"You've certainly thought it through," I tell him in between quick kisses that leave me breathless. 

"Do you love me, darling?" 

He asks constantly and I never tire of answering. "I love you, Freddie. Yes. Always." 

His grins cheekily at me. "I'll go make the calls; you let Phoebe and Joe know what's going on." With a final kiss he almost dances away to the telephone, and I head for the kitchen. Joe's standing at the sink, cutting something, and Phoebe is sitting at the table with a stack of mail. 

"We're having Roger and Brian to dinner," I tell them. 

"Fun! When?" Joe always enjoys cooking for the band, despite Brian's various dietary restrictions. 

"Tonight." 

Phoebe glances up and Joe stops what he's doing. We all steal a glance at the clock - it's already half-two - and Joe looks alarmed. "There's not enough time. I can't get to the shops and do dinner for guests in just a few hours." 

"Make a list, Joe. I'll take care of it. This can all keep for a bit." Phoebe shoves the mail aside and hands Joe a pad and pencil. We've all done this before, created something on one of Freddie's whims, so it's going to be carried out with military precision. We're all painfully aware that Freddie won't always be with us. None of us can resist catering to whatever his princely heart desires. 

Freddie is on the phone when I start preparing the dining room. I hear snatches of his conversation with Brian. "...you KNOW how Roger gets when he's on his own, dear, and it would just be so helpful if you came along..." 

He continues his kindhearted deception with Roger. "...if Brian thinks I just asked him out of pity he'll go into SUCH a sulk, but if YOU were here..." 

I set the table, unaware that I'm whistling "A Kind of Magic" as I lay out a service for three. 

Joe and Phoebe work their kind of magic over the next few hours. My job is to keep Freddie occupied so that he doesn't keep staring at the clock. We have a cuddle and I help him pick out something comfortable to wear, then we go into the lounge to ensure that the train and its scenery are exactly to Freddie's standard. 

"Is there more snow? This bit here looks a bit barren." Freddie flicks some artificial snow into a couple of open patches. He surveys his work with a critical eye. "Wouldn't the trees have snow on, as well?" 

Trying not to sigh, I hand him the little bag of glittery polystyrene flakes and he brushes some along the branches of the tiny trees. He rubs his nose, leaving a little trail of glitter along the bridge, and my heart almost stops at how adorable he looks. I pull out my handkerchief to wipe it away and for an instant time just stops and I'm lost in those sweet, dark eyes. 

We kiss a few times, letting Phoebe take care of the door when the bell rings, then we wait hand-in-hand for the guests. 

Brian has a bottle of Cristal in his hands, which would be festive except that he's wearing a very dark green jumper that emphasises his pallor and the dark circles under his eyes. Roger is right beside him, messy hair standing in spikes. He's carrying Stolichnaya and trying to put on a jolly face.

"Rog, Brian, thank you for coming by at such short notice!" Freddie waves them into the lounge. 

Brian slumps into the room as if the weight of his life is more than he can bear. He offers a slight smile to Freddie and me, then his gaze moves over to the bright gold train. He stops walking and Roger bumps into him, following his line of sight. 

Freddie nudges me with his elbow, grinning. 

Brian's mouth is slightly open. Roger is rubbing his collarbone, looking from the train to Freddie and back to me. He takes a few steps over to the piano and looks at the brilliantly shiny engine. 

"That's a RHEINGOLD!" Roger exclaims, leaning in for a closer look. 

"Should I melt it down and make a ring out of it, darling?" Freddie enquires. Brian chuckles deep in his throat and from the hallway I can hear Phoebe sputtering with laughter. 

I don't get the joke. Neither does Roger, who shrugs at me and starts to inspect the train again. 

Still giggling, Phoebe enters with a tray of crudités. We step back and watch as three grown men turn into eight-year-old boys. 

"The compartments light up." Freddie demonstrates as the light in Brian's eyes begins to shine just as brightly.  
  
Roger touches the engine with his index finger. "How far does the track go?" 

"All around the room. Under the tree, then through the legs of the chairs, and finally back up the back of the piano." 

Brian is already shaking his head and starting to rearrange the track. "To get enough velocity to come back up, it has to have at least a few high spots...if I can calculate how much drag the track produces..." 

"Fuck that." Roger is smiling broadly. "We can make it go straight down, see how FAST it runs." 

"What about the curve by the tree?" Freddie asks. 

Shrugging, Roger starts the train moving with a forceful push. "Ooh!" Freddie swoops down and stops the train before it can fall off of the track on the curve. "Oi! What're you doing, Fred?" 

"The passengers could be KILLED!" 

"It's a cargo train." 

"Is NOT. And even if it is, what if it has your drum kit on it? And someone's still driving the train!" 

Phoebe has to put his hand over his mouth to hold in the guffaws. I settle for rolling my eyes and giving Brian a little plate of veggies. He thanks me, not really seeing the food or me as he kneels on the floor and glances along the little hills he's created on a footstool and an end table. 

Roger tries to get the train moving again but Freddie turns over a tree to stop it. "This could be a trainload of kittens, you heartless fiend!" 

Munching a carrot, Brian interrupts. "There wouldn't really be a reason to fill an entire train with kittens, so—" 

"Shut up, Brian!" Roger and Freddie object in unison. 

Unaffected, Brian returns to his construction project whilst Roger and Freddie send the train across the floor and around the tree. 

Phoebe pats me on the shoulder. "If you think this is bad, you should've seen the fight over using a synthesizer on stage." 

I can only imagine. 

Freddie emerges from behind the tree, bearing the conductor's cap I'd hidden there. He waves it at Brian, who snatches it out of his hands. "I'm doing most of the work here, thank you," he declares as he tries to get the hat over his hair. 

"It won't fit your stupid mop," grouses Roger. "I'm driving, I should wear it." 

"You haven't washed your hair today. It'd slip right off." 

Freddie groans as he stands up and takes the cap off of Brian's head. He brings it to me and sets it atop my head. "Jim did all the hard part of setting this up, and you can't argue with THAT!" he crows before he kisses me and returns to his friends. 

Brian grumbles a bit and Roger is actually pouting. 

"Deacy's toddlers are better behaved than this," I whisper to Phoebe. 

He nods. "If it gets any worse, I have a couple of bottles stashed away just for us." 

That sounds perfect. I open the Cristal and pour three glasses for the guys, who barely look away from the train when they mumble their thanks. At least the arguing has stopped as they follow the golden toy all over the room, cheering when it clears the extra hills Brian made and successfully climbs Mount Steinway. 

They're having so much fun that it is pure hell getting them out of the lounge to eat their dinner. "Do we HAVE to?" Freddie actually whines, and Roger opens his big eyes wide to implore me to change my mind. 

It's all I can do to keep from laughing at them like the big, hairy children they are. "You don't want to disappoint Joe after all his hard work, do you? He made a nut loaf especially for you, Brian." 

Freddie hangs his head but Brian looks up at me with a charming little smile on his face even as Roger sniffs disdainfully at the thought of a vegetarian meal. "Let's go in, guys, what do you say? C'mon, Rog, Fred." 

Roger shrugs, clearly unwilling to offend Joe. The three of them get up, dusting off their knees and backsides, and follow me into the dining room where Phoebe is putting out the filled plates. Freddie never has been much of an eater, and Roger is clearly put out that there's no sign of meat anywhere, but poor, skinny Brian nearly falls face-first into what's probably the first hot meal he's had in a week. 

Roger is manfully poking at the nut roast on his plate when Phoebe appears at the door. "Roger, could you give us a hand in the kitchen?" 

Freddie almost drops his champagne and Brian pauses with his fork halfway to his mouth. 

"ROGER?" squeaks Freddie. "Are you TRYING to burn the house down?" 

"Hey!" Roger folds up his napkin and follows us into the kitchen. "I'm not much of a cook, but I'll...oh!" 

Joe, who's always had a soft spot for Roger, has laid out a nice portion of rare beef and Yorkshire pudding. "Tuck in, and we'll tell them you helped with the wine selection." 

He's beaming as he pulls Joe in for a hug. "Thank Christ, REAL food!" 

Phoebe and I distract the others with more champagne and a charge to Brian: "Make sure that Freddie actually consumes SOME of this meal, please! Jim and I are happy to do the dishes but less happy to clean up Freddie's sick if he keeps drinking on an empty stomach." 

Part of the problem are the medications, which have lowered Freddie's desire for sustenance even more than before he became ill, but he'd absolutely murder us for bringing it up in front of his "boys." Brian puts down his knife and fork and raises an eyebrow at Freddie, who begrudgingly consumes a bit of rice. 

If they suspect anything when Roger returns, rosy-cheeked and not hungry at all, it's dispelled when they rush back to the lounge to continue their games. The entire time we're clearing away and doing the washing-up we can hear their laughter, the occasional little squabble, and the sounds Roger makes when he's "being" the train horn. At some point one of them opens another bottle of champagne, then little by little the room grows still and quiet. 

Phoebe and I turn the corner, about to ask if they need anything else. The sight that greets us makes my heart melt. 

They've pulled the sofa closer to the fire and all three snuggled together so closely that it's hard to tell where one leaves off and the other begins. Freddie's head is resting on Roger's tummy, and Brian is partially draped over them both for warmth. I consider pulling Freddie out of the pile but one look at the blissful contentment on his face is enough to change my mind. 

Phoebe places blankets and pillows carefully, not disturbing their rest, and I make sure the fire is stoked and the screen will keep the flames from sputtering on them. I give Freddie a little kiss on his temple and follow Phoebe out of the room. 

Freddie's beloved Polaroid is on a table in the hall. I pick it up, unable to stop myself, and snap a picture. 

He'll thank me in the morning.


End file.
